


Life After

by SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro



Category: The Night Shift (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Blankets, Callahan - Freeform, Doctor - Freeform, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hospitals, I should be doing homework, NBC, Night shift - Freeform, Nurse - Freeform, One Shot Collection, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump, Woops, hospital drama, tc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-01-28 08:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12602044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro/pseuds/SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro
Summary: A collection of one shots focused around TC and Jordan because I ship them, I love them, and I need more of them. Takes place mostly after season 4, unless specified elsewhere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started watching Night Shift one day, became obsessed, and then found out some asshat canceled it.
> 
> So I write fanfiction.
> 
> Focused mostly around TC because I have a soft spot for characters like him.
> 
> This will just be a collection of one-shots, in no real order.
> 
> I unfortunately do own Night Shift, because if I did, it wouldn’t have been cancelled.

 

  
  


It was a few months after TC had gotten home and started working on the training program at San Antonio. And, much to his relief -and the secret relief of a majority of the night crew- him and Jordan were back together. While everyone knew this by now, since they could tell simply by the way the two would act around each other, they did not yet know that they had moved in together. 

 

By this point, both Jordan and TC accepted that fact that this was simply meant to be. No matter what they tried, somehow they always ended up together in the end. Despite their problems, their arguments, their differences, they worked best together and they would do anything to protect the other. In fact, at a party one, a psychic had told them they were soul mates. TC didn’t believe in that stuff, yet he would still bring it up from time to time, mostly teasingly but always with affection. 

 

When they woke up one day before their shift, Jordan could hear the congestion in TC’s chest and could see it in his face that he wasn’t feeling good. She had insisted that he stay home, call in sick, take the night off. A dose of Nyquil and he would be out cold for the rest of the night. The dog would probably cuddle up to him and he would wake up in the morning feeling better. But, following orders and listening to authority were 2 things TC was not very good at, despite his past in the military (though that is what technically got him kicked out). 

 

So they went into work together, and it lasted about 3 hours before Drew, who was the one in charge tonight, sent TC home. Jordan drove him home -it was a quiet night in the ER, not that anyone would say that out loud-, and left him there on the couch while she went back to work. 

 

When the shift ended, she skipped the normal breakfast with the team and headed straight home, determined to make sure TC was comfortable and ready to run out to get him some over-the-counter stuff he needed it. But when she came home, she found there was no need to rush. 

 

TC was propped up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep, with a little blue and black plaid blanket draped over his shoulders and his legs stretched out over the rest of the couch. Max had been laying on the floor by his feet, but had jumped up as soon as Jordan opened the door. Looking at that blanket, she couldn’t help but smile. She had bought him that blanket years ago, during his first tour to the middle east. He had complained once in a letter about how cold it got at night, and how the army blankets sucked. She had been at a Dollar General store one day, picking up something for home, when she had spotted a rack of soft, thin blankets that were probably better to give to babies. They were small, maybe about 5x4 and very thin, but she had grabbed one anyway, and added it to the box that she was mailing to him. 

 

She doubted it really did much to keep him warm, but he had brought it with him all three tours. After the last tour, she had thought he would’ve thrown it away. It was old, had lost some of the softness and had a hole or two in by now and she was pretty sure a couple of blood stains. But she found out about 4 years after that last tour, when she had brought him home that day he had nervous breakdown at work, that he still had that blanket. It was packed away in box at the very top of his closet. He had even forgotten about it, but had been looking for something -she couldn’t remember what exactly- and they had opened the box and found the blanket. After that, nothing much more came of it, besides on days when she noticed he was off or distracted. She was never sure what exactly would trigger it, or if there was no real explanation behind it at all, but every now and then a day would come along with TC would be this quiet, brooding mood. She would leave him alone, and oftentimes find him in bed with that blanket either tangled around his feet or draped over his shoulders. 

 

When he was sick especially, it would somehow find its way out of the box again. Some people would think it was a childish that he could seek this blanket out. Children look their special blankets, their blankies or their baby blankets, but TC was a grown man who had seen and done things that some men could never claim to have even imagined. Jordan could remember one lecture from a psychology class years ago however, how some people associate an object or a sound with something good and soothing and will subconsciously seek that object or sound out when stressed, afraid, or upset, like how babies will cry for a certain stuffed animal or how people who went through a traumatic experience will sometimes cling to certain piece of jewelry or someone who experienced a lot of grief may hang onto the clothing of the deceased. 

 

Thinking about it like that, it was easy to imagine that TC hung onto that blanket for all this time and sought it out occasionally not because it was particularly warm or soft, but because she had sent it to him half a world away, and during his very first tour in Afghanistan. Maybe to him, it was a reminder that someone at home was still waiting for him to come back. 

  
  


_ Flashback: Afghanistan, TC’s first tour, 12:30pm _

 

_ He had only been overseas for about a month, and already he found that he was exhausted more often than not. Forget med school, this made that seem like a piece of cake. Finals week was not nearly as exhausting as this. Of course, he had know that war was a whole lot harder than college. But that didn’t mean it didn’t surprize him just how much harder it was. In one way, it was a little easier. It was messier, less organized, more exciting, and that’s what TC thrived in. Chaos, action, that rush of adrenaline that comes from saving people while under fire was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.  _

 

_ Despite how hot it was during the day however, he preferred it over the cold of the night.  He had written a letter to Jordan about it, how it was so different from what he had expected but how he found he actually enjoyed it. He told her how cold it would get at night.  _

 

_ Currently, it was 12 in the afternoon and the company had just returned from a small patrol. TC had been up most of the night before, treating some of the injured and taking care of the handful of men who had decided to try to eat something a native had made and ended up with bad diarrhea. It was not a fun night, to say the least. Then he had been asked to go on that patrol, and one man had been shot, and TC had been the only medic available at the time. Someone else had come to take over for a while, so he was finally able to take a break. His plan had been to lay down for just a few minutes, drink some water, and then go get something to eat and check the post. But, he ended up falling asleep as soon as he laid down.  _

 

_ Thad had picked up his brother’s mail for him however, after going in to find his little brother passed out on the not-so-comfortable cots they had. All that was there was a small box, identical in size to the one Thad had gotten from Annie.  _

_ “Hey T, Jordan sent you this.” He said, and tossed it over to him. When the box hit his brother, TC jumped, startled from sleep and looked around in confusion before spotting what had woken him up.  _

_ “Did you have to throw it?” He grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “And how long have I been sleeping?” _

_ “Not long. Maybe 30 minutes, but I figured if you didn’t either open or hide the box, someone else would open it to look for something to screw with you about.” _

 

_ “Hm.” TC looked back to the box. It was small, a foot long and six inches tall. Pulling out a pocket knife, he cut it open and the first thing that came out was candy. Tootsie rolls, airheads, altoids, tic-tacs, followed by a box of Ritz crackers and some flavor packets to add to water. In the back of the box was a little folded blanket. It was black and blue plaid, and while it wasn’t very thick, it was very soft. And behind that blanket, a letter.  _

 

_ “TC,  _

_ I’m sorry to hear how cold it is there at night. It’s been pretty warm here. I found this blanket at the dollar store, I’m afraid it won't be very warm but I got it for you anyway. I’m sure you’ll find something to use it for, if not for warmth.  _

_ I hope things are going well over there and that you’ll be home soon. It’s getting a lonely without you here.  _

_ Besides everyone asking when you’ll be home, everything is pretty quiet here. The other night I had a patient come in who had lost a dare and had to shove 5 tootsie rolls up his butt. That was an interesting case for sure, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat tootsie rolls for while. So naturally, I send whatever ones I have left over here to you. I promise they were not shoved anywhere but in the box.  _

_ Share some of those crackers and candy with Thad.  _

_ Miss you both (but you more)! _

_ Love,  _

_ Jordan. “ _

 

_ TC smiled, put that letter in the pocket of his backpack where he would be keeping all the letters he got.  _

_ “Hey, are those crackers?” Thad had looked up from his own box, where there was more candy and some magazines.  _

_ “Get your own.” TC snorted, covering the box of crackers with his hand. He knew it wouldn’t last, and that Thad would probably steal some as soon as TC went back to sleep, but it was worth a shot anyway.  _

 

_ That day, when he did fall back to sleep, he found that the blanket smelled like Jordan. And from that day on, TC found the blanket comforting. And he kept it, even after he returned home, even after he broke up with Jordan.  _


	2. 72 Hours: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TC gets coughed on one day by a passing stranger in Fort Hood, thinks nothing of it. A few hours later, he isn’t feel too great, but goes to work anyway. Half way through his shift, he collapses. He spends 72 hours in ICU, suffering horrible hallucinations, nausea, flashbacks, vomiting, ect. No one knows exactly whats wrong and fear he’s going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Becauses government conspiracy, man. They’re great. 
> 
> I do not own Night Shift.   
> Also, I have no idea if any of this is even in the least bit believable. I’m not a doctor, not a med student, I can barely pass my general biology class.

It wasn’t very often that TC ended up in Fort Hood. He was there just for a brief visit, to get copies of some records for one of his friends. It was supposed to be a quick in and out. Little did he know that things were about to get a hell of a lot harder. He stopped in the bathroom to relieve himself and wash his hands. As he walked out of the bathroom, someone else was rushing in, coughing. Even with the other man covering his mouth, TC could feel the splash of spit on his face. It was disgusting, and sometime he was way too used to at this point, after working in a hospital for so long. The other man muttered an apology but otherwise ignored him, heading straight for a stall. TC wiped his face off, irritated, and headed to the office to get the paper. 

Once he got it, he back on his motorcycle and headed home. He had work in a few hours and he didn’t want to be late (for the 4th time this week). He would bringing the papers to work this evening and giving it his friend there, so he was able to shower and go to bed once he got him. After his shower however, he was starting to feel a little off. Not quite sick, but off. He brushed it off as exhaustion and went to bed, not even bothering to pull the blankets over him. It wasn’t very cold anyway. 

By the time he got up for work, he was beginning to feel a little sick. A small headache, an itch in his throat. He wasn’t about to call out of work though. There was no need, a little cold wouldn’t hurt. He had gone to work worse before, and hadn’t gotten anyone else sick. If it got bad enough, he would take over the cold and flu patients. 

The shift was rather normal, the biggest thing being a 5-car crash. As the shift went on, TC began to feel a little worse. He was sweating more, but avoided questions about it to the best of his ability. It was around 2am that he really began feeling sick. His stomach was starting to hurt, his head was pounding, and his throat was dry no matter what he tried. It was bad enough at this point that he knew he wouldn’t be much use to anyone. So after tying off some stitches on a woman’s leg, he headed to the desk. That’s where Drew, who was currently the head of the ER, was checking some charts. Jordan was with him, going over a patient’s charts. She noticed TC approaching first.   
“Hey, T.” She greeted, before doing a double take when she noticed how sweaty and pale he was. “Are you okay?”  
“Uh, yeah.” TC nodded, not sure why exactly he was lying about it when he was about to tell Drew he was sick and needed to go home.He turned his attention to the other doctor. “Drew, I-I..” He trailed off as breathing got harder, and put a hand to his chest as if that would make breathing easier. Why was it that everyone put a hand on their chest when they can't breathe?   
“TC?” Drew came around the desk, ready to support the other veteran, who wasn’t looking good at all.   
“Not feeling….great..” he gasped out.  
“Can we get a wheel chair over here?” Jordan called, hurrying around the counter as TC leaned on it, legs not able to hold him up any more. A nurse hurried over, pushing a chair and Jordan and Drew helped lower TC into it.   
“When did this start?” Drew asked, shining the penlight in TC’s eyes. He flinched at the brightness and tried to turn away from it. His breathing got more labored, and Drew began to wheel him to trauma 3, because it became obvious to him that it would be long before TC couldn’t breath at all. Jordan followed, getting the mask ready as Drew helped TC onto the bed. The Irish man’s skin was hot to the touch, burning with fever. 

“He’s burning up.” Drew stated, laying the bed back while Jordan adjusted the mask to help TC breath. He put the thermometer against T’s head, and cursed. “104. What the hell?” He looked up at the screen as Jordan hooked up the machines. His heart rate was irregular, blood pressure high, but the mask was obviously helping quite a bit. With shaking hands, TC pulled it back a little.  
“Didn’t feel great when I woke up.” He said. “Thought it was just a cold. But it got worse.”   
“Yeah, no kidding.” Drew muttered as TC put the mask back over his mouth.

“We need to get his temperature down.” Jordan pointed out, a hand on her boyfriend’s forehead.   
“And need to find out what this is, because it came on fast.” Drew added. “Start antibiotics, and I’m going to take some blood to get tested.” He pulled a needle from a table, drawing the blood with a well-practiced movement and made his way out of the room, closing the curtain so no one would see who was inside. Because the car accident, everyone had been preoccupied when TC had basically collapsed. Molly had been in the breakroom, and the nurses had been busy in the waiting room or in the traumas, trying to help where they could. Now, people were starting to come back out.   
“Kenny, come here!” Drew called, and the tall nurse made his way over.  
“Whats up?”  
“I need to you to take this sample to the labs and put a rush on it. It’s TC. Don’t go telling everyone yet, but something's wrong with him. We’re bringing him up for a scan too, tell them to be ready.”  
“On it.” Kenny nodded, looking serious and he took the vial of blood and hurried up to the labs. 

Drew went back into the room. Jordan was giving him some medication that would hopefully even out his heart rate and lower his blood pressure.   
“Kenny is running that up the lab. Let's take him up for a scan-”  
“No, I’m fine.” TC protested, shaking his head.   
“T, you have a 104 fever, irregular heartbeat and practically collapsed earlier. You are not fine and I’m sure Jordan would have no problem sedating you if we have to.” 

Jordan nodded in agreement and TC groaned, closing his eyes and accepting it. The fact that he wasn’t going to argue anymore was enough to tell the other doctors that he was really not feeling well.   
“Jordan, can you take him up and I’ll handle things down here?” Drew asked, knowing they wouldn’t get through the ER without everyone seeing it was TC.   
“I got it.” Jordan nodded, and as they pushed the bed out of the room she called for Shannon, who was just coming out of another room, to help guide the bed.   
“Is that TC?”  
Jordan nodded and Shannon grabbed the other end of the bed, the two disappearing into the elevator to go up for the scans. 

 

Everyone else turned to look at Drew. They had seen it was TC’s face, and if they hadn’t seen it, they had heard Shannon asking if it was.  
“Alright, listen up, guys. That was TC you just saw being brought upstairs. We aren’t sure what's wrong, but he’s sick and going up for tests now. But you know how he is. He wouldn’t want anyone to stop working just because he’s down, so let's get through this night like we always do. I’ll keep you updated on T as we know more.” 

 

TC, meanwhile, was in the machine, nausea swarming through his stomach worse than that time he and Thad had tried to go offshore fishing when right before they were deployed the first time.The buzzing was making his pounding head throb even more, and although his breathing was easier now (thanks to the tubes in his nose), he still felt like he wasn’t getting enough air. After a few more minutes of laying there, praying the nausea would just go away, he realized it was definitely not about to go away.   
“Jordan?” He called, trying to stop his head from spinning.   
“Right here, T.” Her voice came from over the speaker.   
“I’m really nauseous.”  
“There’s only a few minutes left, do you think you’ll be okay?”  
TC paused for a minute, waiting. Then he swallowed. “No.”  
“Ok, I’m coming in.”

He swallowed again, using all his willpower to not vomit all over himself in this giant tube. It was getting harder though, and almost as soon as his head cleared the machine, leaned over the side and puked up everything he had eaten in the past few hours. Jordan hadn’t had time to get the bucket under him, leaving the bed and the floor a mess. She frowned, helping him sit up and holding the bucket under him as he got sick, his whole body tense and shaking. TC did not puke very often, and whenever he did, it always seemed to sap all his energy away. 

He would get seasick, and she knew he would get carsick on long rides (part of the reason she knew he liked the motorcycle). For whatever reason, shrimp always made him puke (she hadn’t witnessed it, but Thad had told her about it), but otherwise, TC had a stomach of steel. 

“What happened?” Drew’s voice came from the doorway. Jordan rubbed TC’s back as he gagged yet again, though not much came up this time.   
“He started to get nauseous in the scanner.” Jordan explained simply. TC was exhausted, and he started to lean back again. Jordan wiped his hair from his forehead as he laid down.   
“I’ll get someone here to clean it, you bring him back downstairs.”

 

Blood tests revealed nothing. The pictures they had gotten from the scan revealed nothing. They struggled to find any illness that would match the symptoms they were seeing right now. 

By 4am, they realized they had only breached the tip of the iceberg. TC had been given a small dose of morphine to help his migraine and a small dose of steroids to help him fight off whatever it was that was making him feel so sick.   
Drew was checking his vitals again, thinking that TC was asleep. But he was not.   
“Drew, look up!” He called, and instinctively, Drew looked, trying to see what it was that TC was alarmed about. But there was nothing there.  
“For what?”  
“Don’t you see them? The bastards are everywhere. In the trucks, they’re coming here. We need to leave.”   
“There are no trucks, we’re in a building.” Drew looked TC over, and when he looked at his face, he understood. TC’s eyes were far away, as if he was not here, seeing a hospital, but somewhere else where people were coming in trucks. And seeing as he felt they needed to leave, Drew suspected TC thought they were in a warzone.  
“T, where are we?” He asked, deciding playing along was his best bet for now.  
“Iraq. This is supposed to be a safe zone, Drew, why are they here?” The delusional man looked at Drew with concern. Despite his alarm, he was making no movements to get up and leave. Maybe he had gotten a bigger dose of morphine than Drew thought, otherwise T was just a pretty big lightweight when it came to painkillers. 

“This isn’t Iraq, TC. We’re in a hospital. San Antonio.”  
“Nooo, no, We’re not in Texas. We gotta get out, Drew. We gotta get out…” TC trailed off, eyes closing again as he fell back into unconsciousness. Drew added hallucinations to the list of symptoms, which only made the puzzle harder. 

He shook his head and walked out of the room, racking his brain to think of something that would cause this. TC had always been a rather healthy guy. He was in shape, he was active, and sure he drank a little too much sometimes, but that wouldn’t cause this level of illness in someone so suddenly. 

He back in the room 30 minutes later, as he had been to check on him every half hour. And TC was awake again, eyes still far away, but there was something different this time. Drew hesitated, getting that feeling that people get when things are about to get out of control. 

“We gotta get out of here.” TC stated, almost whispering, as if he was afraid someone would hear him.   
“Why?” Drew asked. TC looked at him. Drew had seen that look before, but on other men. That was the look that soldiers gave him sometimes, when they were determined to get out of a really bad situation. Not just a regular bad situation, but something that leaned a little more towards death than to life.   
“Because they’re coming.”   
“Who’s coming? T, you’re in a hospital.” 

As if just realizing it, TC looked at his arm, where the IV was pumping fluids into him. And someone outside decided it was a great time to drop a metal tray. Shit.   
With the reflexes of a trained, tested soldier, TC launched himself out of the bed, tackling Drew with enough force that the other man stumbled back and fell, the curtain blocking off the room not strong enough to keep him standing. The IVs and the breathing tubes in TC’s nose were ripped off with the force, and there were shouts of surprize when the two broke through the curtain. 

“Kenny, we need sedation!” Drew yelled out as he made to grab TC’s ankle as the other man tried to get up and run. He missed, and TC took off down a hallway, causing people in the hall to jump back. Whatever TC was seeing, it was not San Antonio’s ER. And Drew had a feeling that as far as TC was concerned, this was a war zone, and a very active one at that. 

“On it!” Kenny called back, grabbing something from a cart and taking off down the hall after the sick man.   
“What happened?” Jordan asked, helping Drew up. They began to follow Kenny down the hall.   
“He thinks we’re in a war zone. He said Iraq earlier. The tray dropping set him off.”   
The came around the corner just as Kenny pinned TC to the ground. The tall nurse now had a bloody nose. 

“Got him! Drew, the needle’s on the floor-” Kenny was cut off with a grunt as TC elbowed him in the stomach, struggling to get away.   
Drew picked up the needle, pulling off the cap as he dropped to the floor beside Kenny, who was struggling to hold TC down. Had Drew not had the experience of poking hundreds of panicked soldiers with needles on a battlefield, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to do it as easily as he had now. Within a few minutes, TC stopped struggling, the drugs putting him to sleep. 

“Did he punch you?” Jordan asked, handing a hand towel to Kenny.   
“Yeah. For someone as sick as he is, there was a lot of strength in that punch.” Kenny winced as he held the towel to his face. “What happened, anyway?”  
“He think’s he’s in a war zone.” Drew answered. Already a nurse wheelchair over, and Jordan and Drew lifted TC into it, pushing him back to his room while Kenny went to clean himself up. A few of the others milled around obviously curious about what had just happened.   
Drew ignored them for now, and he and Jordan set to work getting their friend back on the bed and hooked up to the IV’s and oxygen again. 

“Let's get a sedative pumping in there too. We don’t need that happening again.” Drew declared, and Jordan nodded in agreement, checking his vitals. His heart rate was irregular again, and he still had a fever of 104.   
“He shouldn’t have even been able to go that far. He could barely stand up earlier.”   
“Adrenaline. People can do amazing things when they think their life is in danger.” Drew sighed as he finished adding the sedative into the IV. “The shift is almost over. Are you staying here with him?”  
“Yeah.” Jordan nodded.  
“So am I. And I wouldn’t be surprised if others stayed too.”

They stood there in silence for a little, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of TC’s chest. After a few minutes, they both had to leave the room to check on other patients.

Just as the shift was ending at 6:00am, and the crew were deciding who would stay to help the day shift and keep an eye on TC, a nurse came from behind the curtain to TC’s room, “Doctors, he’s coding!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was crap. But this one will have 2 parts, because it was getting long! Part 2 will be out probably next week!


	3. 72 Hours: Part 2

Doctors, he’s coding!”   
That sentence echoed in Jordan’s head as she rushed over with Drew, into the room where the long, high pitched scream of the monitors was the loudest sound. TC wasn’t moving at all, pale and hair still wet with sweat. It was the most unnatural thing she had ever seen. TC wasn’t a quiet sleeper, and he hadn’t ever been one from what she could tell. He was rarely ever still. She had only seen him still once before while sleeping, and it had been the night when he had gone into the vents after that killer and fallen from the vents to the floor after SWAT cut the vents open. By the end of that, TC had been in enough pain that they gave him a small dose of morphine and he had slept through the night in one position.

She was acting out of habit now, the movements and words coming out of habit.   
“Clear!”  
Jolt.   
“Recharging…”  
Another jolt.   
“A little higher…”  
Another jolt, and then a break in the screaming of the machine. It went back to normal, back to a steadier beat. Jordan and Drew let out a sigh of relief, putting down the equipment in their hands and leaning on the bed, watching that monitor. He was alive. TC was still alive. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Jordan voiced the question they were all thinking, but got no answer. Molly came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Jordan hadn’t even realized that most of the crew was in the room. The day crew, who had been trickling in, had taken over the other cases already. One of the day crew doctors came in, squeezing past the members of the night shift. Jordan vaguely remembered him as Dr. Howards. He was a good doctor, but no one knew exactly where he worked before here. He hadn’t come to San Antonio until about 5 years ago, right before Jordan moved to the night shift. 

“I’ll be covering his case for the day.” Dr. Howards said quietly, coming up to the bed and taking the chart from the end of it. Confusion made it’s way across his face as he read the chart. “What the hell?” He muttered, flipping through the pages of tests and notes, and looking at TC’s pale form on the bed. TC looked smaller, more vulnerable than Jordan had ever seen him. Even during his worst nights, his biggest breakdowns, he hadn’t seemed so small and frail. It was wrong. 

Drew began to explain the symptoms to Howards. The nausea, the weakness, shortness of breath, hallucinations, and the extremely high fever. Everyone else began to slowly file out, making arrangements for who would text who with news. This wasn’t like other cases when one of their own would be down. Most of the time, it only took a few hours at most to fix it, get them stable. But this time, no one was sure what would happen. Things had started to go bad enough midnight. Four hours later, hallucinations. Now at 6:45 in the morning, almost 7 hours later, they were no closer to figuring out what was wrong than they were earlier. 

Jordan and Drew stayed at the hospital that day, sitting with him and helping Dr. Howards, who was doing his very best to narrow things down. TC had not quite woken up yet, but had become restless, body sometimes violently jerking once or twice before becoming still again. He would be sweating but shivering at the same time, sometimes hard enough that his teeth were chattering. His breathing was difficult, but they couldn’t put the tube down his throat because several times already he would start gagging, though nothing but some stomach acid would come up, and he would make a pained noise and go back to being practically unresponsive.   
TC hadn’t been responding to sounds for several hours. No matter who spoke or what noises were outside, he ignored them or didn’t hear them. But he responded to touch, flinching away at even the lightest touch, as if his skin was ten time as sensitive. 

It was around noon when his eyes shot open and he tried to get up, moving faster than someone in his condition should be able to move. And he was screaming, the words -if there were words- too slurred to make out. Dr. Howards got a fist to the eye in the movement, and he stumbled back, automatically calling for the nurses to come sedate him. Drew and Jordan, who had just been outside the room, had hurried back in and struggled to push TC back down. He struggled and seemed to be panicked, desperately to get away from whatever monsters he thought were after him. A nurse came and sedated TC for the second time since this illness took hold of him, though it took longer to start working this time. 

None of this was making any sense to the doctors. He shouldn’t have been able to get out of bed, because of how sick he was. Yet twice now he has gotten up and tried to make a run for it, twice sedated, twice managing to get rather strong hits on other people. But Dr. Howards was beginning to have a suspicion of what might be happening. While Jordan sat with TC, holding his hand, Dr. Howards took Drew aside. 

“Do you know where he was before he started getting sick? Other than his home. Did he go anywhere before going home after work?” Dr. Howards asked quietly, after making sure no one would overhear them.   
“Uh, I think he mentioned something about picking up some papers for a friend.”  
“Do you know where he went to get those papers?”  
“Fort Hood.”   
Dr. Howards bit back a curse. “I need you to block off his room, no one is allowed in or out. Has he coughed on anyone?”  
“No, but he’s been sweating since last night and vomited earlier during a scan.”  
“We need to shut down then.” Dr. Howards muttered, mostly to himself. “Find out every patient he’s worked on tonight and every patient who went through that scanner after him. Any doctors that worked on him. Quickly!” The day shift doctor hurried off after that, pulling out his phone as he did so. Drew wanted to know why he had to do these things, but he didn’t waste time. He hurried to the front desk, telling the nurses to announce that ER was shutting down and to tell any in-coming ambulances to go to a different hospital. There was reasonable concern and questions being asked, but Drew was already moving to get the list of patients and doctors TC had had contact with. 

When Dr. Howards finally came back into the room TC, Drew, and Jordan were in, he looked both relieved and concerned.   
“So the good news is, I think I know what he got in contact with. The bad news is, I can’t tell you what it is. It likely happened while he was at Fort Hood, and there are men on their way with the treatment for it. When they come, they’ll give him three shots and that should clear it up. However, it may cause symptoms similar to withdrawals. Vomiting, shaking, sweating, the whole nine yards. It’ll be pretty rough for two days or so. Everyone who came in contact with him or any form of body fluid from him will be getting 1 shot. You may get the chills or be shaky, but it shouldn’t be nearly as bad as his.”  
“Why can’t we know what it is?” Jordan asked.   
“Because it’s classified information.”

 

About an hour afterwards, two men entered the hospital. Looking like the typical FBI Jack-asses from TV, wearing their sunglasses inside in fancy black suits, hair cut precisely and neatly, the men walked to the front desk and were pointed to TC’s room. He had been blocked from the other rooms with police tape. The men each had a brief case, and one of them opened the case as they got to the bed, pulling out a little baggie with 3 different syringes in it. Without a word to the doctors in the room, they injected the shots. One into TC’s neck, one right below his chest, and one in his leg. Then they gave Dr. Howards, Drew, and Jordan a shot each, before leaving the room, all without saying a word. 

It only took an hour or so for the side effects to kick in. TC began shivering, sweating, gagging though there was nothing to come up. That’s how the next 48 or so hours went. It was devastating to watch, and Jordan stayed by his side through the whole thing. Drew had checked in often, but had also gone out to help with whatever he could. Both were shaky and a little feverish from the shot, but nothing they couldn’t handle. 

Jordan had fallen asleep, and it was only when the sound of the heart monitor changed did she wake up. For once, it was a good change. Instead of pounding or going irregular, it was back to normal. TC’s numbers all appeared to going to where they should be. Jordan scrambled to take his temperature, and she would be lying if she said a few tears didn’t fall when she saw that his temperature had begun to go down. Instead of a 104, it was now just 100. His fever was finally breaking, though he would no doubt have a rough recovery ahead of him. For now, he appeared to be sleeping, peacefully for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the others will be better, as I am not the best at writing fluff. But I have a few more planned out, so keep watching!!  
> And comment some things you would like to see happen!


End file.
